


Let Loose

by atmilliways



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AC/DC References, Anthony 'Just A Dramatic Sap' Crowley, Fluff, Moving In Together, Other, Songfic, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/atmilliways
Summary: After their celebratory gosh-we-really-just-got-away-with-all-that-didn't-we meal at the Ritz, Crowley does five things.





	Let Loose

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first new thing I've written to post since, like 2010 and it's a _blessed songfic_. Thank you to the person on Discord who looked at this for me and offered reassurance, no idea what your handle on other sites is and I'm rushing to post this before I have to leave for work, so tell me in the comments or something I don't knooooooooow.

The first thing Crowley does after dining with Aziraphale at the Ritz is race on foot all the way back to his flat. Or, more precisely, to the curb outside his flat. He knows it will be there, because Aziraphale said so — and it _ is _, his precious car, his Bentley. He runs a proprietorial hand from headlights to bumper, checking for anything that Adam might have put back wrong even by an infinitesimal amount, but it’s all there. What a kid. 

He slides into the driver’s seat and flexes his fingers on the steering wheel as if testing her out. There’s that same thrill of anticipation as when he’d seen her for the first time, shiny and new and sitting there in the car lot just _ begging _ him to steal it away. (He’d paid, though, not wanting to take a chance on the police impounding her if he ever happened to get distracted from the belief that they wouldn’t.)

Crowley has never bothered with anything so prosaic as keys; he just has to look pointedly at the ignition and the engine purrs to life, with a happy rev or two to say hello. 

“Good car,” he mutters, and turns the radio on. Not worried about intercepting any angry messages from Hell, not today. It’ll be a while before they work up the nerve, or decide to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened, or both. The Bentley tunes the signal for him, settling on the opening riffs of an AC/DC song.

_Back in black_  
_ I hit the sack  
I've been too long I'm glad to be back_

“Yesssss,” Crowley hisses happily, baring his teeth and pulling away from the curb to menace the London traffic. 

_Yes, I'm let loose_  
_ From the noose_  
_ That's kept me hanging about_  
_ I've been looking at the sky_  
_ 'Cause it's gettin' me high_  
_ Forget the hearse 'cause I never die_  
_ I got nine lives_  
_ Cat's eyes  
Abusin' every one of them and running wild_

He puts the song on repeat, because he can. 

* * *

The second thing Crowley does, once the Bentley has been exercised properly and returned to her place at the curb, is head upstairs and burst into the flat. He’s still liking the song, and as soon as he saunters in it starts blasting over the state-of-the-art sound system that he never bothered hooking up. 

_'Cause I'm back_  
_ Yes, I'm back  
Well, I'm back_

“Listen up,” he roars at his plants, voice loud to be audible over the music, “_ all _ of you are coming with me.” 

_Yes, I'm back_  
_ Well, I'm back, back  
Well, I'm back in black_

The plants tremble. It _ should _ be impossible to fit them all into the Bentley, but she’s a very obliging car. He absolutely does not strut in time to the beat in a way that might, upon closer inspection, resemble an attempt at dancing. No sir. 

* * *

The third thing Crowley does is drive to the bookshop. On his way there he thinks back to how odd it was, drifting about the place wearing Aziraphale’s shape. A little disconcerting how… _ welcoming _ everything had gone out of its way to be, just because it thought he was the angel. It doesn’t show that kind of deference to him and he’s glad, because for some reason he’d found it ever so slightly spooky. The kind he _ doesn’t _ like. 

_ Yes, I'm back in black _

It’s much more comfortable in general to be back in his own shape again, with his car and the only other earthly possessions he really gives a damn about crammed into the back seat behind him. That last part is only temporary, of course, but the point still stands. The flat will sell within a week or two and he won’t miss it. 

_Back in the back_  
_ Of a Cadillac_  
_ Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack_  
_ Yes, I'm in a bang_  
_ With a gang  
They've got to catch me if they want me to hang_

The Bentley knows her space in front of the shop and pulls into it without much prompting on the driver’s part. 

* * *

The fourth thing Crowley does is make Aziraphale help him unload the car. It’s more than just the plants he’s got crammed in there: the sketch of the Mona Lisa, the eagle lectern salvaged from a bombed out church, and…

'Cause I'm back on the track  
_ And I'm beatin' the flack  
_Nobody's gonna get me on another rap

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale says primly as he helps the demon carry the _ other _ statue up the front steps. “Wrestling?”

“What?” Crowley replies, feigning innocence. Badly. “That’s what it said on the little placard when I... acquired it. Must be what it is then, stands to reason.”

It’s highly unlikely for the gramaphone to be playing what it is by the time they make it inside, but when Crowley gets a song stuck in his head, it gets stuck _ hard_. 

_So look at me now_  
I'm just makin' my play  
Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

“I’m just not sure it’s appropriate to put in the entrance,” the angel frets. But he puts his end down where Crowley indicates anyway, right on the central dias in the shop’s front room. 

Crowley shrugs. “Swap it with the eagle, if you like,” he offers magnanimously. (That makes more sense anyway, it’s supposed to have a book on it.) Then, quick as a snake gliding over sand, he’s beside Aziraphale and twining both arms around him. “Thanks,” he adds. Something unusual is happening to his face.

“For what, my dear?” When Aziraphale turns around in his arms he can see reflected in the angel’s pristine blue eyes that he, Crowley, the Serpent, pride and fear of Hell, is wearing the sappiest damned grin. Oh well. 

“Letting me move in,” he replies. Aziraphale’s grin is sappy too, and as his mouth begins to open — probably to tell Crowley about how _ nice _ and _ good _ he is, the sap — Crowley takes the opportunity and kisses him. Forked tongue and all. 

_ 'Cause I'm back  
_ _ Yes _…

The angel startles slightly in his tight grip, and for just a moment Crowley worries he’s crossed a line… But then Aziraphale’s eyes flutter closed and he begins, in a very unskilled but earnest way, to kiss back. 

The fifth thing Crowley does is, if it’s possible, Fall just a little bit more. 


End file.
